Moulin Madness!
by She's a Star
Summary: Thoroughly unsatisfied with the dismal second half of Moulin Rouge, the Duke and Christian commiserate over absinthe and come to the conclusion that the movie would be much better if they traded physical characteristics...Disaster ensues. :)
1. A Turn of Events

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Moulin **Madness**

Disclaimer: Moulin Rouge isn't mine. Neither are assorted Harry Potter characters. Neither are...many other things.

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Author's Note: This is entirely weird. I wanted to try to write something funny, and, well...it's not that funny.

It is, however, very odd.

It does get better after you're past the beginning.

...I hope.

It also probably won't be updated much, as....well, you know about me and chapter fics. We don't exactly get along.

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Chapter One: A Turn Of Events

All in all, this was a _very_ disappointing day for Christian Claremont.

First, he had woken up that morning to find a bundle of hate letters at his door that claimed he'd _stolen_ Your Song from some gay singer with huge glasses and bad fashion sense. Naturally, he'd been _completely_ offended - that song had poured from the depths of his heart to profess his sudden and undying love for Satine!

Plus, he'd hit a High C in it.

Take that, Charlotte Church.

Next, he'd waited the _entire_ previous night for aforementioned Satine to elope with him, and she hadn't even come back from the Moulin Rouge! He'd composed seventeen songs for her as he waited, the first entitled 'Come Fly With Me' and the last 'Ha! I Don't Care If You Never Come Back Because I Always Liked Nini Better Anyway So Forget You!'

And then, a most disappointing event had occurred when the love of his life finally arrived. She was, it turned out, staying with the Duke.

Before then, Christian hadn't really seen why anyone could even pretend that there was the teensiest bit of competition between himself and dear ol' Dukey. Sure, the Duke was rich and the fate of the production lay solely in his hands, but Christian was handsome, witty, poetic, romantic, naive - everything that a girl could possibly want!

He even had a cleft in his chin.

Could some lowly old crazed frog-stomping Duke beat _that_?!?

He thought _not_.

But now, quite sadly, she'd decided to stay with the Duke. And she seemed to have developed quite a nasty cough, as well. 

Christian sighed. 

_An ugly old man and a bout of bronchitis. It sure isn't her day._

But all of this, he could have handled. After all, he was the protagonist, the romantic hero! It had been quite obvious that he would win Satine back and they would have their happily ever after! 

But then...

Then he'd received an anonymous but very official-looking letter that informed him that his last name was not Claremont after all, but _James._

"James!" he moaned miserably aloud. James was not at all the ideal surname for a romantic hero!! Claremont was so much more mysterious and alluring!

And it _did_ start with the same letter as Christian. Always a plus.

_It's no wonder why Satine chose the Duke over me,_ Christian thought glumly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and checking quickly in the mirror to see that his heartbroken-and-brooding expression was flawless. _He probably has a nice last name! Not...James._

An agonized sob escaped Christian's lips as the door swung open to reveal Toulouse Lautrec.

"Things awen't aways what they seem," he said comfortingly.

"Things are _exactly_ the way they seem!" Christian shot back woefully.

"She woves you, Chwistian! I _know_ she woves you!"

"Oh," Christian said, surprised. "Well, so do I."

"Why awe you sobbing, then?" Toulouse asked in confusion.

"M...my last name," Christian said in between weak sniffles, "Is...James."

Toulouse gasped in horror.

"James?!" he repeated, aghast. "I take it back, Chwistian. Pewhaps she doesn't wove you anymowe. I'm not suwe if I would."

Christian sighed miserably. "I know. My life is over! Over!"

"Pewhaps you could concentwate on getting Satine back," Toulouse suggested helpfully.

Christian nodded weakly, wiping away his tears. "Good idea. I think I'll go stand outside in the rain in front of the Moulin Rouge and yell her name a few times. You know, to ease the pain."

Toulouse nodded in understanding as Christian stood up, shaking, and punched his fist in the air.

"I can overcome this!" he proclaimed bravely. "I will survive, or my name isn't Christian Claremont!"

"But, Chwistian," Toulouse reminded him nervously, "Youw name _isn't_ Chwistian Cwaremont."

Devastated, destroyed, and completely desolate, Christian broke down and burst into tears.

* * *

Satine sighed impatiently. Where was he?? According to her calculations, Christian was supposed to have yelled out her name in agony _five minutes ago_! And to a woman who would be dead in approximately eight hours, fifteen minutes, and thirty-two seconds, five minutes was quite a large amount of time to waste.

"Saaaaaaatine! Satiiine!"

"About time," she yelled back. "Do you have any _idea_ how long I've been waiting for you?"

"I'm sorry," Christian apologized. "I had a little emotional blow. But I overcame it!"

"You mean my telling you I didn't love you?"

"Oh, no," Christian said easily. "It was _much_ worse than that."

Satine rolled her eyes. For a hopeless romantic, he sure wasn't giving off the 'all-you-need-is-love!' vibe right now.

"Well, you screamed my name twice," she informed him. "Now I'm going to walk inside and then stare out the window, crying, and you're going to get punched and dragged back inside."

Christian was quiet for a moment.

"Oops."

"What?"

"Toulouse has me confused! I think he started that speech already!"

This was too much for Satine.

"Listen, BUDDY!" she screeched. "I am going to be DEAD in approximately eight hours, fourteen minutes, and twenty-five seconds, and I want to live out my last day as the perfect tragic heroine! _Got it??_"

"Think so," Christian yelped.

"Good," Satine snapped before storming inside to burst into sobs.

Honestly. Why couldn't she have fallen madly and deeply in love with someone with the _slightest_ bit of intelligence?

And a better last name than James.

Sheesh.

* * *

"It's hard, you know?" the Duke sniffled. She nodded understandingly. 

"Being the bad guy," he continued desolately. "When I signed onto this project, I was under the _false_ understanding that I was supposed to be cunning, handsome, and malevolent! Now I'm an insane rodent-like moron with a squeaky voice and a penchant for squishing frogs!"

Perching thoughtfully on his shoulder, the Green Fairy announced, "Well, quite personally, I thought that Roxanne sequence was _very_ intense."

"Thanks," the Duke said, brightening considerably. "I consider it my best work to date."

The Green Fairy nodded. "You were pretty malevolent there."

"But I want to be handsome!" the Duke stood from his bar stool, striking a dramatic pose. "Legendary! Seductive! I want to be..."

An intense pause filled the air as the few people present in the Moulin Rouge studied him interestedly.

"Count VonGroovy," he finished in a stage whisper.

"Count VonGroovy!" the Green Fairy repeated with an appreciative nod. "I've heard about him! Wasn't he going to be the one who takes Satine and Christian out in a hot air balloon to his Gothic French chateau, seduces them both, and then gets them hooked on morphine?"

The Duke nodded with a grin. "That's the one!"

The Green Fairy sighed. "He woulda been good."

"Satine would have fallen for me then! And Christian too!" The Duke paused and added as a hasty afterthought, "Not that I want him to or anything. You know. Right. Nope. Don't swing that way. Not I!"

High, nervous laughter escaped his lips.

The Green Fairy studied him quizzically for a moment before responding, in true Dr. Evil fashion, "Riiiight."

With a sigh, Dukeykins drowned his four hundred and fifty eighth shot of Absinthe before sliding the empty glass across the counter and requesting, "Fill 'er up, Tom."

"Are ya sure, sir?" asked the toothless bartender tentatively. "You've consumed an unhealthy amount of absinthe. I'm really surprised that you're not dead yet."

"Hey!" the Duke said with a defiant sneer. "The author likes me! She wouldn't kill me off!"

And with those fatal words, he dropped lifelessly to the floor, dead as lead.

...

Mwehehe. Just kidding.

"Go back to Harry Potter universe or wherever you came from!" shot the Duke, pulling a face.

"Maybe the author likes _me_ too!" Tom shot back. "I'm _obviously_ her favorite from the Harry Potter series if she was kind enough to bring me here!"

"Hahaha!" 

Hearty laughter immediately filled their ears.

"Not so, my good fellow, not so!" a dazzlingly handsome wizard in robes of violet announced with a brilliant smile. "Everyone who's anyone knows that the author favors me! And why shouldn't she? I am, after all, Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, third class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defense League and five time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award!"

With a chuckle, he studied everyone's dazed expressions and gave the lot a roguish wink.

"Now, I'm off to find some of those _gorgeous_ can-can girls," he announced brightly. "Who's that really radiant one? Satin?"

"Satine," the Duke said, his eyes bulging as he began to twitch. "And she...is...MINE!!!!!!"

Easy laughter spilled from Gilderoy's lips. "Ah, she'll be the judge of that, good sir!"

The Duke studied him in disbelief for a moment, shocked that his 'I am mad and you must listen to me or I'll kill you in some cruel and unusual way!' act hadn't worked. This fellow must have truly been thick.

After taking a deep breath, he made another attempt.

"I don't...like...other...people...touching...my...THINGS!!!"

"Now, now, let's not get risqué!" ordered Gilderoy jovially. "I assure you, no one wants to touch your....things."

He winked at the Duke, who was positively infuriated.

"Listen, _you_," sneered the Duke violently. "I squish frogs! Squish them!! Squish 'em good, squish 'em dead! You don't _want_ to mess with me!!"

Gilderoy chuckled. "Ah, squishing frogs! Quite violent and messy on the shoes, isn't it?" He cast a quick glance at the Duke's feet. "And, well, I won't please you with the entire list of evildoers that I've defeated, but you can find them in my published works Break With a Banshee, Gadding With Ghouls, Holidays With Hags, Travels With Trolls, Voyages With Vampires, Wandering With Werewolves, and Year With The Yeti!"

Everyone studied him silently once more.

"Clever titles, aren't they?" he asked, beaming proudly.

"Well, I'll be off then!" he announced after another moment of silence. "Wonderful meeting you! And don't feel compelled to say it - I already _know_ it was wonderful meeting magical me!"

Tom reminded himself never to speak or think of favorite Harry Potter characters in the presence of She's a Star.

Ever.

Again.

After Gilderoy, Christian was almost a welcome sight to the Duke. He'd always thought the writer to be quite a 'pretty boy', but the encounter with 'Magical Me' had forever changed his outlook on the expression.

"Life is tough," the writer announced glumly as he sank down next to the Duke. "Tom, gimme the strongest thing you've got! You know, to take the pain away."

Tom obediently filled a glass and handed it to Christian, who drowned it all in one swallow and then shuddered visibly.

"Oh!" he croaked. "That was certainly strong!"

"Kid, that was water," Tom informed him dryly.

"Well, I need something _stronger_!" Christian declared dramatically. "Let's go with...water....with lemon?"

"Oooh," the Duke droned sarcastically.

"Oh," Christian wrinkled his nose in disgust. "It's...you."

"Indeed."

"Life is tough, huh?" Christian sighed. "When I signed on, I never bargained for this."

"Amen to that," the Duke said, raising his glass weakly. 

"What have _you_ got to worry about?" Christian asked dubiously. "You've got the money and the girl!"

"Kid," the Duke said dryly, "Have you _ever_ heard me sing?"

"Yes," Christian said at once, growing very nervous. "And please don't subject me to such torture again."

"Precisely," the Duke moaned. "I just want to be handsome! Debonair! Suave! Smooooooth. You see, kid, _you've_ got all the luck. You're handsome. Of course she'll fall in love with you."

"What!?!?" Christian asked defensively. "Satine loves me for me! Not what I look like! She would love me even if I were the ugliest man in the world! Even if I looked like...you!"

The Duke snorted.

"What?! You think she wouldn't?!" Christian demanded.

The Duke shook his head. "You're naive. You have no idea what you're talking about. Women only like you if they look like you."

"Well, I bet you that if we changed appearances, Satine would still fall in love with me!" Christian said defiantly.

"Would you be willing to put money on that?" the Duke asked, interested.

"I can't," Christian reminded him, rolling his eyes. "Hello. Penniless poet here. _Duh_."

"Oh yeah," the Duke said dejectedly. "Right."

They were quiet for a moment when the Green Fairy suggested, "I know a way where you could find the answer!"

"Really?" the Duke and Christian asked simultaneously.

"Really!" the fairy said, nodding. "It just so happens that when in the presence of magic people-" she gestured toward Tom, "-I can do a little magic of my own."

"You mean you can switch us?!" the Duke asked excitedly, eyeing Christian. The prospect that _that_ could be him was too good to be true!

"Of course!"

"Okay!" Christian said. "I've got it. We can go back to the beginning of the movie, with me looking like you and you looking like me, and we'll see who Satine falls for."

"You're going _down_, writer!" the Duke spat.

"As if!" Christian shot back. Turning to the Green Fairy, he announced, "But I get my voice."

"WHAT?!?!" the Duke exploded.

"Hey," Christian said defensively. "I'm stuck with being you. I deserve one positive attribute here."

"Fine," the Duke pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Ready?" the Green Fairy asked.

The Duke and Christian nodded, and the Green Fairy giggled before flying in a circle around them, uttering the magic words.

"Bibbity bobbity boo!" 

Yes, I admit it, blatantly ripped off from Cinderella. Don't sue me.

And with those three aforementioned blatantly ripped off words, everyone's favorite story began again...

With quite a...different twist.


	2. Seeing Stars

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Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews...gosh, I'm surprised so many people liked it. :) Hopefully you'll enjoy this chapter. It's a bit weak - I got stuck about halfway through. Ah well. Attempt to enjoy. :) 

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Chapter Two: Seeing Stars

"We don't let ugly people stay here."

"Come on!" Christian wailed.

However, the adamant old landlady just shook her head, glaring at him.

"_You're_ ugly!" he pointed out desperately.

She sneered at him, then hissed dangerously, "_What_ was that??"

"Meep!" Christian said weakly.

"WHAT?"

"Er...nothing, nothing." He was quiet for a moment before a plan blossomed in his mind. "What if I could get you a date with the most handsome man ever?"

The landlady leaned forward, interested. "Keep talkin'."

"Well, he's tall, blonde, brilliant smile, British accent..."

"Ooh!" squealed the landlady in delight. "I _do_ love a good British accent."

"Hey," Christian cried defensively. "_I _have a British accent! Why don't you love me??"

"Please, kid," the landlady drawled. "You're Scottish. Quit the whole 'I'm from London! Honest!' act. Now, when can I see this guy?"

"I just need to negotiate for a minute," Christian said quickly before turning skyward. 

"Star?" he asked weakly.

The world around him froze.

"Hey, Star," he said nervously, forcing a bright smile. "Starita, beautiful! Starziekins! Star, baby-"

"Don't sweet talk me," I, the brilliant She's a Star herself, instructed, stepping out of thin air and studying him quizzically. "What do you want?"

"Can you bring Gilderoy in here for about five pages or so?" he requested, then promptly added, "You know I love you, darling. I mean, if I had to choose between you and Satine-"

"You'd choose Satine," I finished snappishly. "Because you two are meant to be together. Riiiight?"

"Right, right, right," Christian nodded vigorously. "Satine. I love Satine."

"And _why_ do you want my Gildykins?" I asked suspiciously.

Christian gulped. He wasn't too sure if Star would let Gildy be subjected to such torture.

But he needed his garret, by golly!

"You just made me think 'by golly'," Christian accused angrily.

"Baby, I can make you do anything I want," I retorted wickedly. "Now, _tell _me why you want Gildy."

"Well," Christian said nervously. "I just...uh..."

"Spit it out, Claremont."

"I...yearn for his sparkling company?"

Christian was gay.

Yup, he liked men. He realized this now. Lord, he wanted everyone from Zidler to the Duke! Women had never been his cup of tea, really. 

Nope, he wanted a big, strong, buff man-

"STOP IT!!!!" Christian pleaded, throwing himself to the floor and cowering.

"_Why_ do you want my Gildy?" I repeated menacingly.

"This lady," he said, gesturing towards the frozen landlady. "She wants a date. Otherwise she won't let me have my room."

After studying the woman for a moment, I concluded, "No. No way. No _way_ would I do such a thing to my Gildykins."

"But I need my garret!" Christian wailed.

"Christian, darling, are you functioning mentally?" I asked dryly. "I am the supreme ruler of the universe in this story, remember. If you ask me nicely, I can get you that room before you can say 'Star is the supreme ruler of the universe in this story'."

"Why not just 'Star'?" Christian inquired.

"Don't push me, buddy," I warned.

"Right, right," he said quickly. "Well...._pleeeease_ can you get me my garret? Pleeease?"

I sighed. "I guess. Just because I'm feeling generous."

With a snap of my fingers, the world resumed its turning, and the woman studied me curiously.

"Who're you?" she demanded. "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, I'm just a girl," I responded with a sweet smile. "Who _happens_ to be the sole creator of this fanfic."

"Ooh!" the woman cried at once, looking nervous. "She's a Star! Star! You're looking gorgeous today, may I say? I-"

"Just give my buddy Christian here his room, okay?" I asked, shrugging one arm around Christian's shoulders.

"Of course, Miss Star," the landlady said, nodding vigorously. "At once."

"Thank you," I said, grinning. "Ciao, darlings."

And with that, I disappeared.

"I'll show you to your room," the landlady said quickly, leading Christian up a rickety staircase...and another rickety staircase. He narrowly avoided a collision with a rat roughly the size of a large terrier.

"You've got rats," he commented weakly.

"Yeah," the landlady grunted. "Here."

She gestured at a door that very clearly did _not_ lead to Christian's garret.

"But that's not my garret!" he protested.

"It's where you're staying," the landlady said shortly.

"No it isn't!" Christian argued. "I need my garret so I can stare out at the Moulin Rouge! Plus, the Narcoleptic Argentinean has to fall through my ceiling!"

The landlady studied him as though he were a raving lunatic.

"Hey, lady," Christian said slyly. "You know She's a Star?"

The landlady nodded slowly.

"Well, me and her? We're like this." He pressed his two pointer fingers together to demonstrate. "And if you don't give me the room I want..."

His voice trailed off threateningly.

"Right, right," the landlady said at once. "Pick whatever room you want."

"That's better," Christian smiled, then walked over to the door to his garret and stepped inside. "Ah, home sweet home."

Humming brightly to himself, he began to unpack his things, but winced when he hung the mirror and it immediately shattered.

Staring dejectedly at the glassy shards for a moment, he sighed, then sat down at his typewriter.

_Oh no!_ he thought, right on script. _I've never been in love!_

And then, luckily, a very familiar Narcoleptic Argentinean came crashing through the ceiling. Very surprisingly, a dwarf dressed as a nun burst into the room as well.

"How do you do?!" he asked with a toothy grin. "I am Henri Raymond..."

His voice, however, trailed off before he could list all of his names.

Christian gave the little artist a friendly smile, which caused poor Toulouse to wince and shield his eyes.

"What are you doing?" Christian asked, prompting Toulouse's line.

"Oh yeah," Toulouse said, dazed, as he stared in disgust at Christian. "We were...uh...uh..."

"Rehearsing a play?" Christian offered.

"Yeah, yeah, wight," Toulouse said, a visible shudder shaking his body. "I'm sowwy, I'm not too cohewent when I look at you. You'we just...disgusting. I think I should be going now."

"But wait!" Christian yelped. "Don't you need someone to read the part of the young sensitive Swiss poet goat herder?"

"Nope, nope," Toulouse said quickly. "That's aww taken cawe of."

"But the Argentinean's passed out," Christian protested desperately.

"He wiww come too!" Toulouse assured him, attempting to escape the garret.

"But Satie has to finish the music before you present it to the financier tomorrow!" Christian howled. "And he'll never be able to now!"

"How do you know aww this?" Toulouse asked suspiciously, eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

"Never mind," Christian said impatiently. "Listen, I _need_ to read that part!"

"Wisten..."

"Christian," Christian supplied.

"Chwistian," Toulouse said. "Wisten. I know I weawwy shouldn't say this because I'm not vewy handsome myself, but...you'we a sickening sight to behowd."

_Wait a second!_ Christian thought irritably. _The Duke wasn't _this_ bad-looking! _

**Christian?**

_Who are you?_

**It's Star.**

_Oh. Hi. WHY AM I SO REVOLTING?!?_

**Well, darling, it makes the story funnier, don't you think?**

_No!!! How will Satine fall in love with me _now_?!?!_

**That's for me to know and you to find out.**

_Original._

**Thank you.**

__

"Listen," Christian said desperately. "I'm trapped under an evil spell, and I'm really a handsome prince!"

Toulouse studied him skeptically.

**Now, _that_ was original.**

_Could you have done any better??_

**Sure.**

_Then help me!!_

**Nah.**

__

Bitc-

**WHAT was that?**

Oops.

_Beautiful?_

****

You're lucky I'm so nice to you.

"And you see, I've come here to save the fate of your production," Christian continued weakly. "You see, I'm blessed with extreme musical talent, and I can save you."

Toulouse studied him doubtfully. "I'ww give you one chance."

"You'll be dazzled!" Christian assured him, beaming again and causing an innocent passing-by bird to fall, dead, from the sky.

Wrinkling his nose skeptically, Toulouse announced, quite pained, "Just come up alweady so we can get this ovew with."

Quite satisfied with himself, Christian climbed up the magically appearing and conveniently placed ladder into Toulouse's studio. The Doctor and Satie studied Christian in horror, jaws dropping as they were cursed to witness his sickeningly hideous countenance.

"What an ugly, nasty coot," Satie muttered to the Doctor, who nodded in agreement.

"What was that?" Christian asked, confused.

"Er...uh..." Satie searched his brain desperately for a moment before announcing, "Frank is living in my foot!"

Christian studied Satie, befuddled, for a moment, before fixing his 'I'm-such-an-adorable-penniless-poet-slash-lyrical-genius-don't-you-just-love-me' grin on his face. 

Big mistake.

Satie collapsed into a heap onto the floor without a single word, and the Doctor seemed frozen in place. Christian immediately stopped smiling and instead replaced it with a menacing smirk that seemed much more at home on the Duke's repulsive face.

_This_, he thought miserably, _Is going to be harder than I thought._

**Don't you just love it?**

_No._

**Why ever not?**

_If you weren't in control of the entire universe and my destiny in this story, I would be _incredibly_ angry with you._

**Fear not, m'dear. Things will get better.**

_...Really?_

**...Nah.**

~ * ~

The singing of 'The Sound of Music' was more difficult than Christian had ever imagined. For one thing, everyone kept passing out in disgust at his inconceivably sickening appearance before he had the chance to open his lips. Then, when he'd finally come up with the brilliant suggestion that they all close their eyes and simply _listen_ to him sing, they'd all been in awe. So much awe, as a matter of fact, that they refused to believe that that had been him singing, and spent another half an hour trying to find the hidden source of the voice.

By the time they'd actually _arrived_ at the Moulin Rouge, the diamond dogs were scheduled to be halfway through their performance. However, they discovered, much to Christian's chagrin, that there wasn't a performance of any kind. Instead, all of the can-can dancers were gathered around someone blocked from view, pushing and fighting to be able to stand in the front of the circle.

His heart sinking, Christian had the feeling that he knew what they were gathering around. Ignoring the repulsed stares of people he passed, he made his way over to Harold Zidler.

"Excuse me?" he asked politely.

Harold turned around with a wide grin on his face that faltered the second he laid eyes on Christian. Looking rather pained, he forced the smile back onto his face.

"Er...yes?"

"Who are the girls over there all gathered around?"

"My financier," Zidler responded, chortling. "Quite the handsome fellow...Count Von Groovy, I think his name is."

"Count Von Groovy?" Christian asked incredulously. "Don't you mean the Duke?"

Zidler studied him as though he were insane. "No...Count Von Groovy."

"Oh," Christian said weakly before making his way over to the circle of dancers to visit his dear ol' good looks. One of the dancers swooned violently and fainted right on the spot, and a few others dropped to the ground beside her in concern, attempting to revive her. Christian stood near where they'd been and himself...er...the Duke...er, Count Von Groovy came into view.

He looked like...well, himself, only he kept twitching his mouth into a strange sort of smile and widening his eyes - he was doing the dreaded Bedroom Eyes!

And crazily enough, it looked _good_.

"Now, now, ladies," a deep, flirtatious voice that sounded not at all like the Duke's but rather, quite like She's a Star's beloved Gilderoy Lockhart's said, "Do be calm. It's just little old me."

He laughed at this, and a few more girls fainted.

_Star?_ Christian thought desperately. He just couldn't take it anymore! He needed to look like himself again, gosh darnit! _Staaaar!!!_

**. . .**

_Star? Hello? Are you there?_

**Huh? What...? Oh, oh yeah. Hi.**

_Star, you've got to help me! I just can't handle this! I really can't! I give up!_

**Christian, buddy, _you_ wanted this. Now, I've just gotta...**

**...**

...

_Star?_

**Huh? Oh yes. Sorry. Keep getting distracted.**

_By _what_??_

**He's _really_ gorgeous, isn't he? I mean, he's no Gildy or anything, but that is one _hot_ hunk o' man. I mean-**

_STOP! STOP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT ANYMORE!_

**Fine then. I just won't help you.**

_No, no, no! Never mind! I just...Star?_

Star?

Helloooo?

_Great,_ Christian thought bitterly. _Now I haven't got anyone to help me._

He studied all the pouting tuxedo-clad rakes who were being completely neglected by the enamored can-can dancers. 

"This sucks," one announced to the other.

"Damn straight. Let's go."

All of the men filed out of the Moulin Rouge, but no one seemed to notice. They were all still completely bedazzled by Count Von Groovy.

_Wow,_ Christian thought, admiring the Count, _He actually _is_ kinda nice looking...very handsome, really. I_...

He stopped at once, an expression of utmost revulsion on his face, as though he'd just looked into a mirror.

_Star, _please_ tell me you made me think that._

**Nope. Sorry, buddy. Kinda disturbing, darling. I never expected you'd turn into a twisted narcissist.**

_Shut up. I get so much abuse._

**Fine. Just for that, Satine is standing right behind you.**

_What?! No she _isn't_, she has to sing her number, and I-_

"Um, excuse me?"

Christian spun around to find, surprise of all surprises, Satine standing right behind him.

"H...hi," he said nervously, giving her a weak half-smile. She winced.

"Are you the Count?" she asked, her perfectly shaped nose wrinkled in disgust.

"No-"

**Oh, no no no. You _are_ the Count. Don't kill my plot, Christian.**

_But I'm NOT! I can't lie to the woman I love!_

**Baby, she's never falling in love with you if you don't.**

"Yes," Christian said at once. "Yes, I'm the Count."

"How...wonderful," she said with a faint smile. "Let's...dance?" She spat out the words as though they caused her great pain, then added at once, "Unless you don't want to. Actually, on second thought, you look so _exhausted_. I'm sure that you don't want to dance. I'm sure that you want to go home. You look sick. Are you ill? You really look that way. Maybe you should leave right now. You know. And never come back."

"No," Christian said, a bit dazed. "I'd love to dance, actually."

"Great," Satine said, looking as though she were about to be sick.

**And this, my dears, is where things start to get interesting.**


	3. Not In The Job Description

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Moulin Madness!

__

by She's a Star

****

Author's Note: Eep! Sorry for the _extreme_ lack of updates. I kept meaning to update, but then just didn't get around to it. So...now I have. :-) A million thanks to everyone who's reviewed! 

And as to the ever-popular issue brought up by Cryssa, I'm exaggerating Christian's good looks just as I'm exaggerating the Duke's...not-so-good looks. (Now the fangirls may come after me, too. Eep.) I hope not to offend Richard Roxburgh (who has a _very_ good reason to be offended and thankfully looks nothing like the Duke in real life) or Ewan McGregor (though I don't see why he'd be offended), if they were ever to come across this.

****

Disclaimer: Gildy is JKR's, though I wish wholeheartedly that he was mine. The Snape Seduction Squad and Gildy's Gals belong to themselves.

****

Chapter Three: Not In The Job Description

She tried squinting.

It was no good - she could still vaguely make out his grotesque face, and it was enough to get her a little dizzy with revulsion.

Resisting the urge to collapse into a dead faint, she forced a weak smile and very reluctantly placed her hands on his shoulders. He smiled brightly at her, and she held back a whimper.

Yes, there were perks in her field of work, mainly diamonds and lots of pretty clothes.

But sometimes - this situation being a prime example - it just _wasn't_ worth it.

All around them, the other dancers were engaged in raunchy steps with deviously beaming rakes, but Satine decided to pass on those and instead opted to stand as far away from him as possible.

_Oh yes; let the inner smoldering temptress flourish._

Cringing, Satine muttered, gaze firmly fixed on the wall across from them, "So...kind of you to take an interest in our little show."

_...But it would be much kinder if you were accidentally wretchedly disfigured in some sort of natural disaster so that no one will have to look at your hideous face._

"Oh, I'm delighted to be involved," he said with a broad smile that caused her to shudder involuntarily. "Assuming you like what I do, of course."

Her jaw dropped before she could stop it.

Oh no.

Oh no-no-no-no-no.

She was done. She quit.

This was _not_ in the job description.

....

All right, so it kind of _was_.

But she was a semi-respectable girl! She had standards!

And he was waaaay, waaaay below them.

_Someone, anyone!_ she thought desperately. _Help me!_

**She's a Star at your service.**

_You are an evil, evil soul._

**Excuse me? I _am_ writing the fic, m'dear; I could make things much, _much_ worse.**

Satine gulped.

_Er..._

**Would you believe me if I said that there's more than meets the eye?**

_No._

**. . .**

Can't blame you there.

__

So you're going to help me, right?

**I couldn't do that! It would ruin the story!**

_As opposed to ruining my _sanity_?!_

**Just trust me, you want to stick with this one.**

_Why? He'd better own a diamond mine._

**Would that motivate you?**

_Possibly._

**Well, then he owns one. Yup. He's a rich sucker. You wanna stick with this guy.**

_Fine. _

The Count was studying her curiously, apparently wondering about the lapse in their conversation.

"What were we talking about again?" she asked, forcing a smile.

"Er...if you'll like what I do," he supplied.

_Diamond mines, Satine. Think of the diamond mines._

"I'm...sure I will?" she asked weakly. 

The corners of his mouth began to twitch, a sure sign that he was about to grin, and she immediately flinched and slammed her eyes shut.

"Are you all right?" he asked, sounding concerned.

"Yes, yes," she said, wanting to keep her eyes closed as long as humanely possible. "Er...something in my eye."

"Oh," he said weakly. "Well...anyway...Toulouse said we might be able to, er, do it in private."

_Thanks, Toulouse._

"Did he?" she asked, wearily opening one eye and immediately shutting it again.

"Yes," he said, completely oblivious to the fact that she was about to hurl. "A private...er...poetry reading."

A poetry reading.

A _poetry_ reading.

She'd heard lots of things in her line of work: the 'horizontal tango' (she wouldn't name any names, but only because the Narcoleptic Argentinean apparently didn't have one), 'getting your freak on' (which seemed quite historically incorrect for 1899, but then again, so was 'gitchi gitchi ya ya da da'), even 'organizing the card catalogs' from a man in glasses who was supposedly a librarian and most likely hadn't gotten anything more than a kiss on the cheek in his life.

But never a _poetry_ reading.

Satine simply couldn't take it.

"You know," she said, opening her eyes and trying not to flinch. "I've never been much of a poetry fan. Really just...er...can't appreciate it. But _Nini here_-" She grabbed Nini's arm from where she was dancing nearby. ("Hey!" Nini cried indignantly.), "-Nini _loves_ poetry. I'm sure she'd _love_ a private poetry reading with you!"

The Count looked rather dejected.

"_What_?!?" Nini screeched after taking one look at the Count. "No, no, no! I can't appreciate poetry! I really can't! I can't even...er, read!"

"Well, I was planning on us doing it orally," the Count suggested with a _very_ annoying look of wide-eyed innocence.

Nini and Satine exchanged an incredulous look before Nini grabbed the arm of another dancer and yanked her over.

"Baby Doll loves, er, poetry, don't ya, Baby Doll?" Nini asked. "Yeah. You've got your girl here, Shakespeare."

"What?!" shrieked Baby Doll. "No!"

"I didn't know that you were so...uncomfortable with it," the Count said in confusion, looking from Satine to Nini to Baby Doll. "I mean, it's not all that strange, though I _do_ have a new technique that isn't used much-"

"I can't take it anymore," Nini scowled, and she disappeared at a frightening speed with Baby Doll behind her. Satine had taken a few steps forward when a frighteningly deep voice filled her ears. She turned to see Chocolat beaming slyly at the Count.

"_I_ like poetry," he informed the Count, wriggling his eyebrows.

"Er...all right," the Count said, glancing over at Satine. "You're not exactly what I had in mind, but...I suppose you're just as good as anyone else, right?"

Chocolat winked. 

Oh, good God. The Count really _was_ desperate. (And she didn't even want to think about what Chocolat could be thinking.)

With a very reluctant sigh, she stomped back over to the Count and looped her arm miserably through his.

"Oh, come _on_," she said impatiently. "Let's go read your damn poetry."

He grinned eagerly at her as they walked out of the club. 

"I don't think I'm anything spectacular, but I've been told that I'm quite good," he said excitedly. "Toulouse was reluctant at first, but then even he said that I've got a knack for it."

Satine resisted the urge to throw herself to the ground, sobbing hysterically, and instead took a deep breath and tried to ignore him.

_Diamond mines. Diamond mines._

*

"And so I walked by the shop window, took a glance at the _dazzling_ reflection inside, and said to myself, 'Bless me, I _am_ quite good-looking, aren't I?'" 

The group of can-can girls that had been fawning over them for the past half hour burst into shrill giggles, and one of them sighed, "Oh, Gilderoy, you're _so_ witty."

"I know, I know," he said with a sparkling grin and a wave of his hand. "But don't give me all the credit! Surely my dear new friend Count Von Groovy deserves a bit of praise as well?"

Grinning smugly to himself, the Duke...er, Count Von Groovy tried to look humble as the girls immediately surrounded him, throwing their arms around him and giggling. He winked at one, and she swooned violently before collapsing to the floor in a dead faint.

Ah yes, this was where he belonged: surrounded by beautiful women having witty and intelligent conversations with those equally as attractive as he was! (All right, perhaps not _equally_. But quite close.)

"It was, of course, very hard to take, losing my memory," continued Gilderoy Lockhart dramatically. "With no clue who I was, no clue what I had achieved! (And it was a lot, mind you. I'm the only wizard in the history of...well, wizardkind to win the Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award _five_ times!) Sometimes it was hard, _very_ hard to take indeed. But..." He sniffed dramatically. "I persevered!"

The dancers now had silent tears running down their cheeks.

"Oh, Gilderoy!" said one in an exceptionally choked voice. "You're so brave!"

He grinned. "Yes, yes, I know."

Just then, an eruption of giddy screams from the opposite side of the club filled the air. Everyone looked over to see six girls standing in the corner, three of them bouncing up and down and holding lilac signs decorated with Gilderoy photographs and the words 'WE LOVE YOU, GILDY!' and 'YOUR BODY'S TOO GILDYLICIOUS!'. The other three were scowling with their arms crossed in front of their chests, staring in exasperation at the Gildy-lovers.

Gilderoy chuckled. "Duty calls."

"We love you, Gilderoy!" shrieked one of the girls.

"Marry me!" cried another.

"No, marry _me_!" screeched the third.

"This sucks," announced one of the girls who apparently did not have a liking for dear Gilderoy.

"Tell me about it," said another. "What this place needs is some _Slytherin_ guys."

"Luuuucius," the third said in a very dazed sort of voice.

"Snaaaape," added the second.

"Gooooyle."

The other two stopped and stared in horror at the first, who began to whistle innocently.

The can-can dancers looked about as confused by this display as the Duke...Count Von Groovy felt, but Gilderoy seemed to have experienced this sort of thing before. He threw a few roguish winks at them and smiled broadly before turning back.

"Celebrity is as celebrity does," he announced, very solemnly. "Fame is a fickle friend....remember that."

All the can-can dancers nodded, entranced.

Count Von Groovy (whom the authoress will refrain from calling 'The Duke' any longer) felt a bit annoyed. _He_ was supposed to be the center of attention, not this devastatingly blonde narcissistic idiot! 

Well, he wasn't going to stand for it anymore. It just so happened that _he_ had the most stunning courtesan of all waiting for him in the Red Room - he didn't need to associate with these lowlifes!

"I'm leaving," he announced jerkily.

Gilderoy looked up in surprise. "So soon, Von Groovy old boy?"

He nodded stiffly. "I'll be seeing you again."

_...When I'm with Warner, that is, so he can knock out a few of those 5-time-award-winning teeth._

"Nice meeting you, then!" Gilderoy grinned broadly.

"Do you _have_ to go?" one of the can-can girls asked, pouting.

"Yes, yes, I'm afraid so," he said briskly, rising and making his way toward the exit. 

The route he chose, however, wasn't a very safe one. It happened to be right through the Snape Seduction Squad and Gildy's Gals.

One of the Gildy-lovers froze, very abruptly, and actually tore their eyes away from Gildy.

"Ewan!" she squealed delightedly.

"I win what?" asked Count Von Groovy in confusion.

One of the Snape Seduction Squad members purred in approval. "Now, this is more _like_ it!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Count Von Groovy said very stiffly, attempting to brush past them and failing horribly.

"I saw him first," announced the Ewan-squealer, grabbing the Count's arm with a surprisingly firm grasp considering her petite frame.

"_You_ can have Gildy!" retorted the purring Snape Seduction Squad member. "_I_ want Ewan!" She paused and added, "Though Snape would suffice."

Soon, the two had leached onto his arms and were pulling back and forth.

"He's _mine_!"

"No, _mine_!"

Quite frightened, the Count cast a look over at Gilderoy, who only chuckled and waved merrily.

"Celebrity is as celebrity does!" he called, grinning.

Smarmy prat.

*

Eighteen minutes and twenty-two seconds.

Surely he had left by now.

Satine peeked out from behind her dressing screen to find that the Count was very much still there, standing with his back to her and humming to himself as he looked out the heart-shaped window.

_Does he never give up?_ she wondered in frustration. 

Apparently not.

She had stood behind the dressing screen for what seemed an eternity, but it seemed like the hideous brute would wait an eternity for her.

Well, fine.

She'd just have to grin and bear it.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped out from behind the screen and asked, in a very flat and toneless voice, "How do I look."

The Count turned around and studied her, then stammered, "Y...you look...you look...not very seductive?"

Good. _Just_ what she was going for. 

She'd decided to abandon the good ol' black corset and lacy robe for a very loose cotton nightgown and bright pink bunny slippers that had, by the workings of She's a Star, appeared mysteriously out of thin air.

Mwahaha.

"Yeah, well, I suppose I'm just not coquettish and alluring enough to deserve your...poetry," she said with forced sadness. "Too bad, so sad, GET OUT."

The Count blinked.

"No," he said weakly. "No, you're still beautiful."

...

Did he _never_ get up? He was _really _desperate for some poetry.

"I...I didn't think that someone as...knowledgeable in the field as I thought you'd be - you know, with all the Bohemian revolutionaries and all, would dislike poetry so much," the Count said, almost dejectedly. "It could just be a quick one, if you wanted."

_Diamond mines, Satine. Diamond mines. Think of the diamond mines._

"Er..." she replied intelligently, and was a bit surprised to see that she had now mastered the feat of looking at him without flinching or wanting to hurl. Quite the achievement.

"Or we could just talk for a while, if you wanted," he offered. 

"Um...okay," she agreed weakly. Talking. None of her...clients had ever proposed that before.

"So..." he said weakly. "You didn't perform tonight."

"Nope," Satine said, shaking her head. "I suppose the author just wanted to hurry things along."

"Actually," the Count said, rather sheepishly, "I think she was trying to punish me."

"Oh," Satine said weakly. 

. . .

. . .

An awkward silence arose.

All right, obviously the talking thing wasn't going to work.

With a very reluctant sigh, she asked, "So, d'you want to get your...poetry reading over and done with?"

He looked a bit more excited at this. "Sure!"

_Diiiiiamond miiiines. Diiiiamond miiiines._

"All righty then," she said, biting her lip and trying to work up the courage.

_Diamonds. Lots of them. Diamonds and diamonds and diamonds and diamonds. Necklaces, bracelets, rings! Think of the diiiiamonds._

And so, with all the strength she could muster, she hurled the Count onto the bed and began the important task of unbuttoning his suit jacket, all the while yelling out brilliant phrases like, "Free the tiger!" and "I need your poetry now!"

This, however, seemed not to be what the Count had in mind.

"_Why do you always think this?!?_" he demanded, rather frustrated.

"What?" Satine asked, bewildered, as he lightly pushed her off of him.

"Well, you see, Satine, poetry is a bunch of words put together to portray the complexity of human emotion."

Oooooohhhhhh.

"Oooooohhhhhh."

And so she felt incredibly stupid.

"So, you were actually talking about _poetry_," Satine said slowly. "Like Shakespeare. Not..." She felt her cheeks flush. What was she _doing_? Was she _blushing_?! There was nothing to blush about! She got _paid_ to think dirty! 

"No!" the Count said, shaking his head vigorously. "So _that's _why you were so unenthusiastic."

"Exactly," said Satine, nodding and feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "In truth, the diamond mines were all that kept me going."

He squinted his eyes at her in confusion for a moment, but didn't question her. 

"Would you like to hear some now?"

"Sure," Satine said, giving him a smile. "Though I really doubt I'll ever be able to think of poetry the same way."

The Count grinned back. "I can't blame you."

*

And so the singing of Your Song progressed without many errors, complete with sky-dancing and all, and for the first time throughout the course of this very twisted story, things started to go right.

...But not for long.

**Dun dun DUUUN.**

****

Author's Note II: Someone please give my fluff-n-humor muse, Steve, a stern talking-to. She's turning this into fluff, when I strictly told her it was to remain humor. 


	4. In Which The Answer Behind The Mystery o...

**Author's Note:** Let's just pretend that I didn't neglect this fic for a year, 'kay? 

Er. Sorry about that.

This, tragically, isn't as funny as the previous chapters, and is also rather short, but ah well. Just to keep up the whole 'sucky' vibe, I didn't bother to proofread. Mwahaha.

I'm a rebel. Oh, yeah.

And no offense to the Nini/Satine writers. I had to poke fun a bit, because I honestly can't stand it. But please attempt to refrain from flaming me into oblivion because of it.

**Chapter Four:**

In Which The Answer Behind The Mystery of That Infamous Deleted Scene Is Revealed

            _This is going remarkably well, Christian thought happily as Your Song began to draw to a close. Their little sky-dancing, special-effects-a-plenty fest gave way to the Red Room again, and he sang out the last note, which happened to be the longest note in the history of the Moulin Rouge music universe._

            "Woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo---"

            _Etcetera, etcetera_.

            Meanwhile, Satine got a manicure, the Titanic sank, Chicago came out and won eleven more Oscars than Moulin Rouge had, sixty-million people slashed Nini and Satine on Fanfiction.Net just for the hell of it, and J.K. Rowling wrote the sixth and seventh Harry Potter books, and threw in an eighth, just for good measure. She's a Star, naturally, was busy reading each book over . . . and over . . . and over, and having many emotional breakdowns, because that was just what Harry Potter did to her, and therefore, she wasn't around to stop Christian from the never-ending note of doom.

            "-oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo ooooooooooooooooo--"

            "Eh _ehm_," Satine said pointedly, glaring at him and, at the very same time, managing to show off her newly sparkly red fingernails. How could one woman possess such skill, you ask?? Well, keep in mind that she _is_ the Sparkling Diamond. The girl's got mad skillz, yo.

            Er.

            "Oooh," Christian said, eyeing Satine's fingernails in awe. "Shiiiiny."

            She eyed him strangely. This was, in fact, because he was being strange. Go figure.

            He then proceeded to throw in a charming, "—ooooooorld."

            Then She's a Star decided to switch point of views, just for the hell of it. Much like one decides to write Nini/Satine, she imagines, but isn't quite sure, because she never has and hopefully never will.

            Satine sighed dreamily and stared up into his twitchy, rodent-like eyes. (Swoon if you must, all you girls reading this out there.)

            "I can't believe it," she sighed. "I'm in love. I'm in love with a . . ."

            She frowned and mentally crossed out 'young' and 'handsome' on her One Hundred Flattering Adjectives Sure To Get a Courtesan Some Sparkly New Diamonds list. Um . . . 

            "Talented," she threw in helpfully.

            He grinned winningly. The piano let out a few clanging, horrified notes of its own accord and promptly exploded.

            Damn it. It was going to cost a fortune to replace that.

            But she had more pressing issues on her mind at the moment.

            _No, definitely not alluring . . . or devilishly good looking . . . certainly not roguish . . . er . . ._

            She had just decided on 'resplendent' when the crazed, Harry Potter-overdosed (there are _three_ new books in this warped dimension that is Moulin Madness, mind) authoress switched the point of view again.

            _SWITCH!_

            **Hey there, buddy.**

            Christian groaned. _Please, don't mess with me now. This is actually going well._

            **Exactly! And is that any fun to read about?**

            _Yes! Yes, it's tons of fun. Fun, fun, fa-fun. Man, this is **fun—**_

            **Wow. Revel in how thoroughly unconvinced I am. Now, Christian, I'm going to change things around a little—**

            _No! Don't! I'll . . . I'll . . ._

            Christian didn't know why he was here, with this beautiful woman. Every fiber of his being told him where he _really_ wanted to be – in the sultry, intoxicating presence of Harry Zidler himself. Oooh, how he lusted after that red-headed Father Christmas—

            _Ew__! STOP._

            **Hehehe****.**** Fine. But I swear it, that never gets old.**

            _Don't do__ that._

            **Okay. I'll do this instead.**

            _Wait—_

            But it was, tragically, too late. With a lot of swirly special effects, whooshing sounds, and a randomly placed cow, they were back in time – the opening chords to Your Song were resonating throughout the air . . .

            Christian was a bit unnerved, but decided that it would be best just to go for it. After all, he could defy whatever evil plan She's a Star had in store for him. It wasn't as though she were the ruler of the universe, or anything!

            . . . heh. Heh. Heh.

            He nervously glanced at his reflection, outlined faintly in one of the windows, and was surprised to see that he did, in fact, look like himself again. Hallelujah! His beautiful, beautiful self was back! Why, that She's a Star was brilliant! And he felt a bit tempted to run over and kiss his reflection, but the 'twisted narcissist' comment from the previous chapter was still ringing in his head. Thanks to this, he found the strength to resist.

            _And now, he thought happily, __to serenade the consumptive courtesan!_

            "My gift is my soooong," he started, gazing lovingly at Satine.

            She smiled slightly back at him, looking surprised but radiant as always. Tragically, the white nightgown and bunny slippers had disappeared in favor of her classic black negligee. Christian allowed himself a moment of silence to mourn the loss of the bunny slippers before continuing.

            "And this one's for . . ."

            Wait. What was this madness? What was going on?? Instead of gazing with mingled fondness and disbelief at him, Satine was . . . laughing. _Laughing._

            _Does she find this funny__? Christian thought furiously. __These words are coming from the very depths of my soul!_

            (Or Elton John's lyricist's, but who's counting?)

            Satine continued to giggle hysterically, and looked as though she were _attempting at the fondness-and-disbelief look but couldn't quite manage it._

            Christian, however, thought of his favourite children's book, The Little Engine That Could, which would not be published for years and years and years but it wasn't like the Police were around to write Roxanne in 1899 either, and found the strength to carry on.

            "You."

            Ahhh. That was more like it. She was back to the mingled-awe-and-disbelief look. Good.

            He took a few steps forward and smiled sweetly at her.

            She smiled back. As a matter of fact, she was looking a bit more smiley than usual, considering she was a jaded courtesan who had yet to be shown the beauty of life by a certain penniless poet. But Christian was willing to be forgiving, just as long as she didn't start . . .

            _Laughing_.

            Again.

            This was most distracting. How was he supposed to woo her properly when she wouldn't stop bursting into random fits of mirth?

            Was he doing something wrong? He couldn't see what. After all, his singing was swoon-worthy and to-die-for as always, and he looked like himself, in all his unnaturally good-looking glory! Clearly, there was some dark, cruel, higher power causing her to act this way.

            CoughTheAuthorCough.

            "And you can tell everybody that this is your song . . ."

            Okay. The smiling was stopping – NO! It was back! A huge, giddy-looking, indulgent grin that was _so_ throwing off the romantic mood.

            _Damn you, She's a Star, Christian thought violently. __Daaamn__ you._

            He was inexplicably overcome with the sudden urge to find Zidler and begin purring 'Santa Baby' coquettishly at him.

            _Just kidding_.

            And the urge had subsided.

            "It may be quite simple, but . . . now that it's done . . ."

            She was still beaming, and if he didn't do something fast, the giggling would start again. He just knew it.

            "I hope you don't mind," he sang in the most heartfelt and poignant voice that he could possibly manage, "I hope you don't mind . . ."

            She was now positively shaking with laughter – her eyes were closed, and she was grinning ridiculously.

            Well, _damn it._

            "How wonderful life is," he continued. This seemed to sober her up a bit, and that beautiful, script-abiding disbelief-and-fondness look had returned.

            Oh no. She'd lost it. Completely lost it. The shaking with laughter was back, and she leaned over – he was afraid she might fall onto him, and he'd be smothered by six-plus-feet (in heels) of redheaded insanely giggling courtesan.

            **Sucks to be you, huh?**

            _I hate you._

            **Hey, let's not get violent here. There's a simple solution to all of this.**

            _Which is . . .? Christian asked silently, staring in dismay at Satine as she laughed insanely._

            **Dance.**

            _You mean a slow, romantic waltz?_

            **Uh-uh, baby. I want to see some groovy 70s moves.**

            _What??_

            **You heard me.**

            _But I don't know__ any groovy 70s moves! This is 1899!_

            **Minor detail.**** Just go with it.**

            _Oookay__ . . ._

            And go with it he did. Smiling back at Satine, he moved his hands dramatically above him, as though envisioning his name in lights.

            It was like magic! Her face immediately was swept blank, and when he chanced a glance back at her, that lovely expression was there. She was watching him intensely.

            Fondness: check. Disbelief: check. Charming mingling of the two: check.

            Excellent.

            Christian turned and made his way toward the heart-shaped window, gazing poetically out of it.

            "Sat on the roof, and I kicked off the moss . . ."

            So far, so good. No giggling.

            "Well, some of these verses, well, they . . . they got me quite cross."

            He turned and began to walk back toward her; she was staring, transfixed. Completely under his spell.

            _Groovy 70s moves, he thought to himself. _I'll have to remember that.__

            "But the sun's been kind," he sang earnestly, "while I wrote this song . . ."

            She was still staring fixedly, not the faintest trace of laughter in sight.

            "It's for people like you that keep it turned on . . ."

            The music swelled majestically. Satine was gazing demurely downward, clearly overcome with the sudden rush of love she felt for him.

            "So excuse me forgetting . . ."

            DAMN. IT. She was smiling again. Sure, it could pass for a smile related to aforementioned rush of love, but smiling . . . smiling was dangerous . . .

            She looked up at him, smiling uncontrollably, for a moment, before simply turning and walking away.

            Why, he'd never been more insulted in his entire life! The sheer and utter nerve of her! Well, he'd show her what she was missing out on!

            He spun around, facing the heart-shaped window, and proclaimed with a heart-melting grin, "But these things I do . . . you see—"

            And she was back again, this time standing behind him and mouthing the words with flourish.

            _What the . . .?_

            **It's _cute_, okay??**

            _Okay . . ._

            And so the song progressed, Christian belting out the lyrics like there was no twenty-sixth of January (just because 'no tomorrow' is _so overdone) while Satine mouthed the words with gusto and began to show off her own groovy 70s dance moves._

            It was beautiful; stunning; a sight to behold. Never before had any romantic scene brought so many to tears at its beauty. It put the balcony scene from Romeo & Juliet, the make-out session at the head of the Titanic, and even Dr. Evil and Frau Farbissina's night of passion from Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me to shame.

            If only it truly existed, and was located on the second Moulin Rouge DVD disk inside The Cutting Room, which revealed itself as a little red windmill when you moved the remote to the left and pressed enter.

            Sigh.


End file.
